


Can You See My Heart?

by AsagaoSylph



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Allura & Lance (Voltron) Friendship, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, But only a little, But they act like siblings, Fashion Designer Allura (Voltron), Fashion Designer Lance (Voltron), Fluff, Happy Ending, Inspiration, Keith & Shiro (Voltron) are Cousins, Light Angst, M/M, Salty Keith (Voltron), Tattoo Artist Keith (Voltron), klance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:14:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25239847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsagaoSylph/pseuds/AsagaoSylph
Summary: “But that doesn’t mean its right,” insisted Lance, groaning as he rubbed circles into the side of his head. “It’s not like the image in my head at all! I mean, look at it! It’s so dead! He just……he couldn’t seem to get what I was saying. Again.”ORDespite being a successful fashion designer of a company co-founded with his best friend, Allura, Lance struggles to find an artist who can actually express the clothes he wants to make. And, past a point, he stopped expecting to. But maybe the answer just comes in a different form than he expected....
Relationships: Adam/Shiro (Voltron), Allura & Lance (Voltron), Hunk/Shay (Voltron), Keith & Shiro (Voltron), Keith/Lance (Voltron), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 137





	Can You See My Heart?

Lance wasn’t sure which was more terrifying: Allura’s rage or the fact that he was leaning back so far in his chair that he was probably going to get a concussion any second now.

“Lance, I cannot believe you!” Cried Allura, throwing her hands to heaven as if searching for the strength to not kill her best friend; or maybe just to do something with her fingers other than wrap them around his neck. “That was the fifth best artist in this state! I saw the results, they were exceptional! Gorgeous! I would have made a dress from that work immediately! Now, please explain this to me slowly: how exactly did he manage to _underwhelm_ you with his boundless talent and skill?”

Never mind, Lance would absolutely take a concussion over the flames roaring in Allura’s slitted eyes, the seething breaths that raised her shoulders like a lion preparing to rip out its prey’s throat, the ice coating her every word in a layer of glittering spikes aimed right for his heart. He leaned a little further back.

“That doesn’t mean anything, Ally!” He complained, the crumpled plan for a deep purple sundress freckled with golden dots like a fantasy night sky spread between himself and Allura like a shield. “You and I have been doing this for forever, you know I can make do with some pretty god-awful artists! Like that one moron who decided orange meant red, and somehow turned my beautiful sunset into a weird blocky suit! Or the time that guy took my spiral design, copied, and pasted it across the shirt instead of actually connecting them in, oh you know, an actual pattern! Or when—”

“Lance, get to the point!” Snapped Allura, slapping the drawing as a faint hiss bit into her words. “I was there for all of those, I am well aware of the incompetent artists we have partnered with. However, this design is far from pathetic.”

“But that doesn’t mean its right,” insisted Lance, groaning as he rubbed circles into the side of his head. “It’s not like the image in my head at all! I mean, look at it! It’s so dead! He just……he couldn’t seem to get what I was saying. Again.”

Allura swallowed the barbed words already poised on the tip of her tongue, forcing them back down her throat and straightening her clenched fingers. She exhaled then, long and slow. Her own words of a few days ago flitted through her mind, unbidden and unwelcome. _Do not settle this time, Lance. Find an artist who brings your ideas to life on the page._

After all, Lance had always been like this. Ever since high school, when he was able to describe the most glowing images that were always just one step beyond comprehension. Allura had never stopped being stunned by his ability to see beyond what others thought was possible. He was a magician in that way.

He was just also the worst artist she had ever met. The two had been paired for an art project, and his attempt at a rooster had vaguely resembled a cross between a spaceship and a giraffe. But the vision he sang to life in front of her was breathtaking. Feathers that trailed sparks of red into the rising sun, swirling with the blinking drops of melted gold cascading from another layer on the wings, clashing with oceans streaming from the tail and rippling into a deep, shimmering purple mist that lined the edge of the paper.

So, when Allura had first launched her own clothing line, fresh out of high school, there was only one person she had asked along for the ride. Now, seven years, countless runways, endless mountains of discarded designs, innumerable meetings, international recognition, a steadily growing company, and two overflowing albums of scraps from their top dresses later, Lance had never once let her down. But the company was expanding, and Allura had known Lance for over eleven years. His smile may always be picture-perfect, but the imagination behind it was being eroded. She saw how the ties he wore had become less fantastical over the last few months, slipping from blooming flowers that changed color with each shift of sunlight to a deep red tie with coral designs sprawling across the fabric to a blue one with stars dancing in vague patterns.

Lance was the reason Allura had been able to accomplish her dream. Now she had to make sure this company could be a place where he could do the same.

“You’re right,” she breathed, pushing the hair from her face and extracting herself from what Lance liked to call her angry troll pose. “I’m sorry, you must be free to pick your own artist. I just…I do not understand how to find you what you need.”

Lance’s next exhale shuddered, and his fingers tightened around the arm of his chair as he flopped forwards again.

“Yeah,” he murmured, eyes still on the lifeless picture between them. “Me neither.”

Okay, so Lance knew _logically_ that ripping his hair out was a really bad idea, but man was he tempted right then! Between a portfolio for a runway performance that had given up on looming over him in favor of towering above his head like an incensed god, a twelve-and-counting string of failed interviews for an artist, and Allura’s rage at his inability to even begin without a translator for his ideas, any imagination was left flailing in the sea of stress surrounding him.

It almost drowned out the telltale ringtone of _You Got A Friend In Me_ (Hunk would defend that song as the best to his dying day), but the vibrations jittering down his leg snapped him back to reality just in time to snatch at his phone.

“Hunk, hey!” He answered, eyes straying to the clock glaring at him on his desk. “Sorry, work’s definitely going to be running long, and you know this show can’t get anywhere without the marvelous Lanceylan—”

“Lance, buddy, not what I was calling about,” soothed Hunk, the warm honey of his voice swarming in to fill the crumbling cavern that had hollowed itself out in Lance’s chest. “Allura already told me this week would be rough. I just noticed something, thought you might like it.”

“Well, don’t keep me in suspense, Hunk!” Replied Lance, trying to pop his usual squeal in and only semi-succeeding if he was being generous.

“Okay, so you know that tattoo parlour a couple blocks down from our apartment? The super customized one?”

“Yeah, sure,” hummed Lance, sliding the themes for the dresses into their folder and poking at the stack of applications he still had to look through; it wobbled alarmingly.

“And you remember that space skirt you made a few years ago?”

“Dude,” snorted Lance, the pencil twirling beneath his fingers as if in response to the mention of his biggest inspiration, “I’ve made, like, three space skirts!”

“Okay, uh, the one with the super long back that you lined in red and bounced when the model went down that stage so the announcer said it looked—”

“Like a mix of the sea and sky? Yeah, that one!” Chirped Lance, a giggle skittering through his shoulders. “I mean, a red sea is kind of weird, but I was like, _I’m not turning down a compliment, go off!_ ”

“Yeah, that one! I guess this guy’s first all-around offered tattoo is based on that dress or something. He’s still open right now for some incredibly weird reason, you want a photo?”

Lance’s mouth twisted, blue eyes skittering over the pictures strewn across his desk, and the pit of his stomach curdled like dead flowers. Each one was a blow to his dress, distorting and crippling the beauty just barely alive in his mind by now. Every day, for twenty years, the reality of the world had taken its axe to what Lance _knew was there_. He knew it was possible to make something that beautiful. But, in all that time, Lance had never made a dress he was satisfied with.

“No. Thanks, Hunk,” sighed Lance, dropping his forehead into his hand and biting back the heat prickling his eyes. “I’m good for today.”

“Oh! Uh, okay. You doing alright, buddy?”

“Yeah, totally!” Replied Lance, the lie tripping off his tongue like an old friend. “Don’t worry about me, Hunk! You have a date with Shay tonight, right? Go woo your lady, my main lion man!”

“Awww, thanks, Lance. Good luck with your work!”

“Thanks, Hunky! Have fun!”

Lance’s finger clipped the _end call_ button and he tossed himself back into the cushioned seat, the dress glittering like a fresh nebula in his mind. He couldn’t ask for much more time from Allura.

Lance may be stubborn, but he wouldn’t let his vision destroy this company he and Allura had worked so hard to build. This wasn’t just his dream on the line. He swallowed the tears, threw himself forwards, and began clawing through the paperwork and applications. He couldn’t be selfish about this.

Keith was going to strangle the next person who came in five minutes before closing time to request a three-hour long tattoo. Seriously, closing time meant _that’s when I need to go home, change into my pride hoodie, and watch cryptid documentaries for eight hours, you entitled jerks._ But this was Shiro; his cousin, the one who had first seen his art (bastard stole his sketchbook for a prank) and said that the one fire lion looked like his dad’s tattoo, so Keith made an exception. After all, Shiro had set him on this path. If there was anyone who deserved to benefit from Keith’s work, it was Shiro.

“One space lion on the right shoulder finished,” declared Keith, stretching his arms over his head and cracking his neck, a faint groan slipping past his lips. “And closing time’s past, you’re not my customer anymore. As your cousin who has known you since you were seven, screw you.”

“Sorry, sorry,” hummed Shiro, examining the swirling galaxy roaring up from his prosthesis, eyes sparkling. “I got off work really late; emergency meeting and all that.”

Shiro stood, holding out his flesh hand, and all the irritation drained from Keith along with the knots littering his shoulders as he clasped the extended palm. “This means a lot, Keith. Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” promised Keith, pulling the older man into a hug, avoiding his newly tattooed shoulder at all cost. “Remind Adam that I have an orange star tattoo for the back of his neck scheduled tomorrow.”

“Will do!” Chirped Shiro, warmth suffusing his cheeks at the mention of his husband. “Be sure to come over for dinner afterwards!”

“Will do,” parroted Keith, smirking and folding his arms, chin raised slightly. “I’m going to close up. If you try to pay me, I’ll shank you.”

Shiro snorted, gathering up his briefcase and ruffling Keith’s hair instead like the adopted parent he was.

“Aww, angry kitty Keith.”

“Never mind, I don’t need a reason to shank you.”

Shiro booked it out of there and Keith snickered, settling onto his stool to tug the needle out of his instrument of mass destruction (according to his second snarky father) and leave both parts in a bleach and water solution. He glanced around the desk, eyes trailing over the tacked up pictures he used as references, the sketchbook propped open with orders for tomorrow, and the photograph Adam had taken when he first opened up his new store.

Where was that stupid squirt bottle?

Groaning, Keith hauled himself up from the…well, semi-comfy stool, and sulked his way to the front of the shop. He had probably forgotten it there in his earlier attempt to—

Who the heck was here at this hour?

Keith blinked, wondering if the stupid apparition would fade if he glowered hard enough. Instead, the man remained rooted to the sidewalk, sea-blue eyes entranced by the new feature tattoo Keith had displayed at one of the windows. Funny, he had gotten about twenty orders for the same tattoo, but he just couldn’t get sick of the design.

He was pretty sick of customers for the day though. It was a Friday, he just wanted to snuggle with his hippo plushie for a good hour and scream at conspiracy theories in his cluttered apartment.

“Servicing hours are over, sir,” warned Keith, sticking his head out the door and hoping his voice wasn’t screaming _so-help-me-I-will-end-you_. “We open at 11:00 tomorrow if you want to schedule a session then.”

“Who drew this?” Whispered the man, voice catching on some invisible barbed hook and coming out just shy of splintered.

Keith’s throat tightened. He recognized that tone. Old wounds, like his father’s death and mother’s abandonment, were the only culprits for the fragments of shattered dreams that could tear apart the simplest of words.

His hoodie could wait a few minutes.

“I did,” stated Keith, stepping fully out of the shop. “Well, I did this rendition. The original design—”

“I know,” breathed the man. “Yours is so much better.”

Keith’s eyebrow arced, a denial and perhaps a sharp word or two balanced on his tongue, but the man didn’t bother waiting. “And also, I mean, wow! Never thought my work would become a tattoo muse!”

“Your wo—?”

“Oh, duh! Sorry! It’s been seven years and Allura’s still the one who always remembers introductions!” Snorted the man, snatching at his bag. “Just a sec, my business cards are in…here! I’m Lance McClain, co-founder and head designer for Juniberry!”

A purple-bedazzled card was shoved into Keith’s fingers, a portrait of the man grinning up at him beside a string of titles. “Um, I’m sure you must be busy, but I was wondering—”

“You’re Lance McClain? Like _the_ Lance McClain?!” Shrieked Keith, nearly crushing the business card as he gawked at the man with disheveled curly hair and bags darker than the night beneath his eyes. “What the heck? Why are you saying my drawing’s better then?! You literally made the original one!”

“Because it is!” Squealed Lance, gesturing to the design as lightning crackled across his eyes. “It’s gorgeous! It’s got the life I always wished the original did! It looks like it could just twirl and burn itself off page and into the air, right?!”

“Uh, sure?”

Lance’s face was glowing and Keith was fumbling because _what the heck was happening?_ He always knew Lance relied on other artists to draw out his ideas (the guy was so upfront in every interview, geezus), but he had never heard any complaints about his work before.

“What’s your name?” Asked Lance, eyes swimming with magic as they lit on Keith’s, stealing every ounce of breath in his body.

“Keith Kogane. I run this parlour,” muttered the tattoo artist, swallowing the inspiration for an undersea design that bloomed in his mind for later; he was absolutely going to capture the depths swimming in Lance’s irises.

“Would you consider drawing something for me?”

Allura knew Lance worked overtime; he always had and always would, same as her. She knew he could get laser-focused and produce an insane quantity of work in no time, and she knew he was always overflowing with inspiration. She had been working with him from the moment she had the idea for this company; she knew his work habits shockingly well.

This, though? This was a whole new ballpark.

“You finished the portfolio?!” She shrieked. “Last Friday you didn’t even have an artist!”

“Yeah, but I found this guy!” Cheered Lance, slinging an arm around Keith’s leather jacketed shoulders (no, he was not blushing, shut up). “Keith’s crazy good! Look at these designs, Ally! What do you think?”

Allura’s eyes lingered on Keith, whose long black hair was pulled into a ponytail and whose glasses were just a little too large for his face, and she wondered why he reminded her of Lance so much. Lance had much better fashion taste. Still, swallowing back a sigh, she flipped open the folder.

The first drawing was of a halter dress, a gold string glittering around the neck and supporting a sleeveless top. Gold flickered in and out of the dancing waterfall of purple, the waistline tightening snugly above the hips before billowing out in a lighter sheer skirt that split down the middle to reveal frilled shorts so dark they were nearly black. The material swirled with unnamed constellations, deep sea currents dipping in and out, the ripples of fabric almost reminiscent of mountains in the back of the skirt. It was like a glimpse into the universe all by itself.

“Lance.”

“Yeah?”

“Was this possibly…?”

Lance’s arm tightened around Keith as he jerked his head in a nod.

“That was what the guy on Friday tried to draw.”

Allura slapped the portfolio shut and whipped towards Keith, white hair snapping at the sudden motion.

“Keith, I believe you said your name was?”

“Uh, yeah.”

Allura beamed, folding the portfolio under her arm and extending a hand to him.

“Would there be any specific hours or a salary I should know to ensure for you?”

Keith’s eyes doubled in size and Lance snickered. He nudged the shorter boy with his hip and received a light shove in return.

“She’s offering you the job of dealing with me,” teased Lance. “Think carefully, Keithy. Can you handle this much hotness?”

Keith jabbed Lance’s cheek in response and turned to Allura.

“I run a tattoo parlour, so I can’t be here from 9-10 during weekdays or 11-8 on Saturday. But, uh, a decent salary, please?”

Allura’s eyes twinkled and she tapped a finger to her lips.

“Lance works better at night anyway. I believe we can make that work,” she decided. “I'll confirm your salary with you as soon as I pull up a contract, alright?”

Lance whooped, tackling Keith in a hug that turned into some sort of death twirl, and Allura stepped just far enough back that the portfolio wouldn’t be kicked.

“Woohoo! Heck yeah, Keith! We’re going to be a great team!” Cheered Lance, a faint trail of tears disappearing into the air behind him.

And if Keith had three new water-themed tattoos featured next week (Lance’s latest portfolio had been fixed on mixing elements) that were oddly reminiscent of clothing, none of the customers noticed.

But the sunshine in Lance’s eyes and the growing dimple on Keith’s cheek? Now that, everyone noticed.

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing!
> 
> My tumblr is at https://asagaosylph.tumblr.com/ :D


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